Chapter 65

Alessandro

I hadn’t slept well in days, and this wasn’t the kind of sleeplessness that came from caffeine or paperwork or the low, constant hum of power moving beneath the floorboards of my estate. It was the kind of restlessness that gnawed deep within from the struggle between your emotions and rationale. I kept telling myself it was nothing, and I was overthinking things, but I knew better than to believe that.

Sleep was dangerous for men like me. In silence, the things we buried came crawling up from wherever we left them, demanding attention.

I tried to distract myself with the usual rituals: late night work, a double pour of scotch I didn’t want, but my mind wasn’t interested in numbers or strategy tonight. It kept drifting to Smoke’s offer, to the way Isabella had looked at me in the car, and to something darker I hadn’t allowed myself to name yet.

The notes.

They weren’t adding up.

Who was she talking to? Who was sending me letters